


Xena

by Reioka



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cats, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 03:10:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1329631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reioka/pseuds/Reioka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The cat wasn't necessarily a problem. It was just the way that it got into the house that baffled them, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Xena

**Author's Note:**

> Mmmmuuh can we please just have happy times for Teen Wolf I am going to cry myself to sleep at this point. Can we just have happiness?!

Xena

John trudged into the kitchen and slapped around the counter until he found the coffee maker. He thought about giving his son a medal for getting him an automatic coffee maker for his birthday when he found the pot already full of hot coffee, but he had that thought every day he got coffee, and then usually Stiles did something that made him renege his mental medal. He poured himself a mug and inhaled a deep lungful of the rich aroma, then moaned around a mouthful of coffee. He needed a vacation. Or an opportunity to just take a bath in caffeine.

 

_“Wow.”_

 

John frowned, opening his eyes. “What?”

 

_“Wa-wow.”_

 

John looked around in confusion, brow furrowing, before he finally caught sight of bright yellow-green eyes. He reached down for his gun and tossed his mug, letting out a frustrated grunt when he realized he was still in his pajamas. “Damn!”

 

The creature leapt from the counter and onto the table with a wail. It hissed and growled, back arching and fur rising as it turned its side to face him. It made it look even bigger than it was, which seemed impossible, because it was a beast already.

 

“What the hell?!” John flailed backward and fell into the counter.

 

“Dad?!” Stiles came pounding down the stairs, tripping on the last few and flailing onto the ground. “Ow!” He scrambled to his feet and ran to the doorway, baseball bat in hand. “What’s going on?!”

 

“Why do you have a bat?” John sighed, rubbing his face tiredly.

 

“Melissa said I should have one after all the murdering started.” Stiles relaxed a little as he examined the cat on the table. “When did we get a cat?”

 

“We didn’t,” the older man muttered, then frowned, standing up straight. “Wait, you didn’t let it in?”

 

Stiles spread his hands helplessly. “Dad. Cats don’t like me.”

 

“Everyone should like you; you’re a great kid,” John replied, because no one was allowed to say his son was unlikable, even Stiles ( _especially_ not Stiles). “What, so I’m supposed to believe this cat just magically found its way in?”

 

Stiles looked up at him seriously. “Cats are mysterious, Dad,” he said, reaching out to pet the cat.

 

It growled and swiped at him, drawing itself up higher. _“Rrrow!”_

 

The younger boy yelped and flailed backward, slipping on the puddle of coffee and falling to the ground. “It’s trying to kill me!”

 

“…Okay.” John rubbed his face again tiredly, adrenaline beginning to wear off. “I’m gonna go get a towel.”

 

Stiles frowned, but it was starting to look suspiciously like a pout. “I would hope so. You’re the one that dropped your coffee.”

 

“ _For the cat._ ” John waved his hand in the cat’s direction as he walked out of the room and went for the linen closet. “It’s already tried to scratch you. I’m just going to wrap it in a towel and toss it back out. It probably just snuck in behind you or Scott to get out of the cold.”

 

The teen shrugged, because that made sense. And Scott probably wouldn’t even have noticed if it had snuck in when he left, because he’d already been texting Allison as he’d walked down the stairs. “Will you grab a towel for me, too? My pants are soaked.”

 

“You’re capable of walking to the closet yourself.” John came back into the kitchen, unfolding the towel, then threw it over the cat and scooped it up before it could flee. It began hissing and yowling, but he was used to kicking and screaming kids (he’d raised _Stiles,_ after all), so he just opened the back door and opened the towel again.

 

The cat dropped to the ground, hissing and spitting as it scrambled around before scurrying under the bushes.

 

John wondered, not for the first time, if something was in the water that was making the feline population crazy. Then again, Claudia had had a cat while they’d been dating, and it had been supremely weird, so maybe that was just a cat thing. …The cat had licked his knees whenever he came over. He’d thought only dogs did that.

 

“Aw, man! My TARDIS mug!” Stiles wailed from inside, sounding much like the cat had when it had been startled. “ _Dad!_ ”

 

The older man rolled his eyes in exasperation. “No, don’t worry about me. It’s just a few scratches. I’ll be fine.”

 

“Scott got me that for my birthday! Dad, he’s gonna give me the face!” He began picking up the shards of the blue mug, frowning. “Where he looks really sad but he’s trying to pretend he’s not, and it just makes him look sadder.”

 

Well, that did sound bad. Scott had looked at him like that once. “I’ll buy you a new tartar.”

 

Stiles sighed. “It’s a TAR—never mind, I’ll just order a new one online.” He dumped the ceramic into the trash and sighed again, forlorn. “And hope he doesn’t notice it’s gone until it gets here.” He frowned, suddenly looking thoughtful. “Although let’s be honest, he was texting Allison when he left. He probably won’t be coming over for a few days.”

 

“Wow, you don’t sound bitter at all,” John said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Go change your pants. I’ll clean up down here.”

 

Stiles whined, picking up his bat and trudging for the stairs. “Uuuugh now I have to do laundryyyy.”

 

“Son, I hate to tell you this.” John dropped the towel to sop up some of the coffee. “You’ve needed to do laundry for a while.”

 

“Lies and slander!” he heard, just before his son’s door slammed. He smiled a little and wet a paper towel to sweep up the smaller shards of ceramic.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

Stiles dropped his lacrosse gear as soon as he walked into the house, closing the door with a little more force than necessary. “Oh, Allison is great!” He dropped his backpack on the couch. “Allison is wonderful!” He stomped into the kitchen and tugged the refrigerator open to grab the milk. “Her farts smell like rainbows and unicorns!”

 

_“Mrow.”_

 

He turned, frowning. The cat had returned. “Well I mean, he never actually said that.”

 

The cat looked at him judgmentally. _“Wow.”_

 

“Look, I’m allowed to be mad! He ditched me again!” Stiles said, feeling oddly like he had to defend himself under that look. “They’re not even supposed to be seeing each other! Allison’s dad could kill him!” He paused when the cat looked unimpressed, then explained, “No, like _actually_ kill him. Because Scott’s a werewolf and Argents are hunters.”

 

The cat remained apathetic.

 

Stiles scowled. “Well what the hell do you know? You poop in a box.”

 

_“Rrow,”_ the cat said, then leapt from the table and padded over to the door.

 

Stiles sighed and rolled his eyes. “Man, even _you_ are telling me to shut up.” He opened the door to let it out. “Well, you don’t deserve my words, anyway. I have followers on Twitter that think I’m witty.” A handful, anyway. “I have important things to say, you know! I’m not useless all the time!”

 

The cat sauntered outside.

 

The teen sighed, frowning, and let the door swing shut as he turned to rifle through the cupboards for something to eat. “Don’t mind me, just Stiles, all alone, all over again. It’s not like I get lonely or anything. It’s not like _I_ would like to go see a movie with someone or something. He better not be taking her to the new Marvel movie, is all I’m saying.”

 

Stepping away from the cupboard with a bag of chips he’d hidden from his dad, Stiles reached to put the milk away, then paused. “Wait.” He rushed back to the door just in time to see the cat scaling the fence. “How did you get into my house!?”

 

The cat leapt off onto the other side of the fence without a backward glance.

 

Stiles pursed his lips. “…Of course. Alone again. I’ll just drown myself in chips and Halo.” He glanced at the kitchen window, frowning, then turned to make sure it was locked. “After I check all the windows for where you could get in. I don’t need cats judging me. I get enough of that from werewolves.”

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

Stiles woke up to something rumbling behind him. He thought for a moment that it was Scott, or even Derek, but realized the creature was too small to be a person. He turned to look at it and yelped when he saw the cat curled up like a brooding chicken, staring at him. “Oh my God!” He flailed backward and fell out of bed. “ _Ow!_ ”

 

_“Ow,”_ the cat agreed.

 

“Don’t mimic me!” the teen exclaimed indignantly, sitting up.

 

“You talking to yourself, son?” John asked on his way by.

 

“ _No!_ ” Stiles flailed toward the cat. “This stupid cat got in _again!_ ”

 

The older man frowned and leaned back to peek into his room. “Thought you said that you closed all the windows.”

 

“I _did._ ” Stiles stood and dusted himself off. “Even the little one in the bathroom. It’s not getting in because our windows are open.”

 

John pursed his lips. “If it gets in again, we’ll take it to the vet. He can do something with it.” He pointed at the cat sternly. “Get out.”

 

The cat continued to be unimpressed with basically everything around it.

 

John thought about just leaving it there, to show it who was boss, but that wouldn’t solve anything. “I’ll go get a towel.”

 

“By the way, you owe me ten bucks for my TARDIS mug.”

 

“Ugh.”

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

Stiles was getting himself a mug of coffee when he heard the doorknob to the basement jiggle. He paused, squinting at the door skeptically as he tried to decide whether to call for help or not. On one hand, it was too late in the day to take on a burglar that was clearly stupid enough as to take on the Sheriff’s house. On the other, it could also be a werewolf or any of the baddies that apparently came with them.

 

The doorknob twisted and the door fell open before he could make a decision. He figured that was okay when he saw the cat hanging from the doorknob. “Well, that answers that.”

 

The cat dropped to the floor and pushed its shoulder against the door, causing the door to swing shut—not enough to latch, but enough that they could think it was. Stiles often thought his dad had gone downstairs to check something and just hadn’t shut the door all the way. Maybe his dad thought the same thing when he saw it, too.

 

As the cat leapt onto the counter beside him, Stiles said, “You are a criminal mastermind. If you had thumbs, you could rule the world.”

 

_“Wow,”_ the cat said.

 

“Wow indeed.” Seto got himself a cup of coffee in his brand new TARDIS mug and smiled when the cat batted a crumpled up napkin on the floor. “At least I know how you’re getting in now. I’ll tell Dad.”

 

The cat looked for something else to knock down, but found nothing. It leapt to the floor and batted the napkin under the table, then pounced on it.

 

“Wish I’d had my phone though. No one’s going to believe me. They’re going to say you’re not smart enough to figure out how to open a door.” He looked down into his cup, frowning. “Not that Scott will hear me anyway. Allison might laugh, though.” She listened, sometimes.

 

The cat turned to look up at him again. _“Mrrow.”_

 

Stiles nodded. “Damn right.” He began to walk out of the kitchen. “I’ll just finish this drink and go see where you’re coming in. Then you can go bother some other person to talk to you, like an old lady. Old ladies are _supposed_ to talk to you. I’m not old, or a lady, so this is very inappropriate for you.”

 

Both he and the cat jumped when the front door burst open. Stiles scrambled for a weapon and came up with a butcher’s knife.

 

Luckily, Scott looked a little more impressed with his knife than Allison did.

 

“…What the hell are you doing here?! Also, knock! People do that!” Stiles exclaimed, stepping to the side to hide his cup of coffee.

 

Scott saw it anyway, and shot him a look of Disapproval (capitalized and everything). “Stiles, your dad said you shouldn’t be having coffee after school.”

 

“Psh, what coffee, I don’t see any coffee,” Stiles replied, grabbing the mug and sloshing the coffee into the sink. “Look, my mug is empty!”

 

Scott’s expression went from Disapproving to Unimpressed. He had nothing on the cat though.

 

“Oh hey, when did you get a cat?” he asked, smiling, and squatted so he could reach out to pet it.

 

The cat hissed and scrambled to hide behind Stiles. Stiles may have preened a little at the put-out expression on his friend’s face.

 

“Anyway,” Allison said, shooting her boyfriend a look of fond exasperation (which Stiles was well acquainted with). “We were going to go see that new Marvel movie, and I kind of figured you’d be really disappointed if you didn’t get to see it. We were just coming to invite you.”

 

Allison was truly a Disney princess for thinking about him. Stiles wondered briefly which one she resembled most, but then the cat hissed again. He scowled. “We do not hiss at the Disney princess.”

 

Allison giggled and blushed, and she got that cute little dimple that Scott always talked about. Stiles couldn’t even feel mad anymore that Scott probably hadn’t even thought about him in relation to anything Marvel, which, rude.

 

“I even promise I’ll sit behind you guys so you can pretend I’m not there,” he said, instead of pointing out what a bro Scott _wasn’t._ “I mean, you’ll probably still be able to tell I’m there, but you can pretend.” He pointed at the basement door. “But I’m going to see where the cat’s been coming in, first.”

 

“Aw, so it’s not really yours?” Allison frowned and knelt, reaching out for the cat. It sniffed at her, indifferent, but approached her nonetheless. She began to pet it. It became much more agreeable, which made her smile.

 

“No, it just keeps getting in the house. Dad said we should take it to Deaton the next time it got in, so he could take care of it. It’s pretty chill, though. Slept on me once.” Stiles walked over to the door. “I’m just gonna check where it’s coming in real quick, and then we can boot it out.”

 

Scott frowned. “I thought you said we were taking it to Deaton?”

 

“I’d rather go see a movie,” Stiles told him blithely, flipping on the light for the basement. “And we can swing back by the vet’s office to get a box, too, because we don’t have one for it.”

 

“Oh, okay.” Scott stood up straight and followed him. “I’ll help you see where it came in, then.”

 

“Kitty!” Allison exclaimed, frowning, as the cat stood and trotted after them. “Come back!”

 

The cat leapt from the top step and landed on Stiles’s shoulder. He choked back a startled scream as its claws dug into his shoulder. “Ow God damnit what is your problem?!” he hissed, turning his head to glare at it. “You’re as heavy as a bowling ball; you could have knocked me to my death!”

 

The cat planted its back feet on his other shoulder and peered down the stairs.

 

Scott beamed. “Oh hey, it’s female! I can tell from this angle.”

 

“Stop looking at the cat’s butt, Scott. That’s just weird.”

 

The werewolf made a noise of disgruntlement. “I was just trying to sex her, Stiles.”

 

“You wanna sex the cat?” Stiles teased, smirking, as he made it to the floor. He was glad the cat was there, because Scott wouldn’t hit him while he had the cat on him, and the cat didn’t look like it was going to move any time soon.

 

Scott’s expression promised retribution, even as Allison giggled behind him.

 

“Oh hey,” Stiles said, quickly changing the subject. “She must have been getting in through this broken window.” He peered up at the small window, just barely big enough for the cat to wriggle through. “I’ll tell Dad about it. Wonder how it got broken?”

 

Scott picked up the lacrosse ball in the corner. “Well, we were wondering where this ball had gone.” He held it up. “Now we can return that other ball to the coach.”

 

Stiles blinked at him. “I lost that ball.”

 

The other boy sighed loudly. “ _Stiles._ ”

 

“Shhhhh, you didn’t see this,” Stiles said, taking the ball from his hand and shoving it into the pocket of his hoodie. “Ball? What ball?”

 

“You guys are dumb,” Allison giggled. “Come on, or we’re going to be late for the show.”

 

Stiles took the ball from his pocket and tossed it into one of the boxes lying around; he’d be back down to help his dad fix the window later, so he’d grab it then, when he wasn’t on his way out of the house. “Lead the way, princess!”

 

The box Stiles had tossed the ball into rustled.

 

Stiles flailed in surprise but turned to face it, frowning. “What the heck.” He edged closer to the box. “Maybe I knocked something—”

 

A masked face lunged out of the box. Stiles yanked his hand back with a (totally manly) shriek, flailing backward as the cat leapt off his shoulder and at the box, clawing the raccoon across the face. He comforted himself with the knowledge that Scott’s startled scream had been even higher pitched.

 

“Get out of the way!” Allison shouted, trying to see what they were screaming at as she pulled out a knife. “Move! I can’t see!”

 

The cat fell to the ground, yowling, and darted up the stairs as the raccoon let out a hiss and fell out of the box. Stiles followed, because clearly the cat had the right idea. He caught Allison on his shoulder despite the scary knife she held and pounded up the stairs, Scott close on his tail. When they got upstairs, Scott turned and slammed the door shut, locking it and putting a chair in front of the door after them.

 

Allison squirmed. “Stiles, you are so lucky I didn’t freaking stab you with this knife!” she hissed as he finally set her down.

 

He frowned at her. “I trust you.”

 

She hid her knife in its holster again and glared at him, placing her hands on her hips. “Then you should have moved when I told you to and let me see what was going on! If that had been a human, we all could have been dead!”

 

“I think that was the raccoon that ate Mrs. McGullicutty’s Pomeranian,” Scott whispered, horrified.

 

Stiles raised his eyebrows, surprised. “Well no wonder the cat came into the house instead of staying in the basement.” He paused, then gasped and looked around. “Cat!”

 

Remembering the cat’s valiant efforts to protect them, Scott and Allison began looking around, too. Stiles let out a wounded noise when he saw little red smears on the tile.

 

“They’re heading over here,” Allison said after a moment, and approached one of the cupboards. She pulled the door open slowly and cooed when she found the cat trembling beside a large pot, licking its bleeding paw. “Hey, kitty.”

 

“Keep her there,” Stiles ordered, turning to rush toward the linen closet. He grabbed the biggest, fluffiest towel they had (usually reserved for when they were sick and wanted comfort) and returned to the kitchen, relieved when he saw the cat allowing Allison to pet her again. He gently nudged Allison out of the way and reached out with the towel to grab the cat.

 

The cat hissed and spat at him weakly, but eventually allowed him to wrap it up like a burrito. He held the cat to his chest and turned, giving them both a pleading look. “Maybe the movie can wait?”

 

Allison and Scott glanced at each other in surprise before Scott offered him a reassuring smile, reaching out to pat his shoulder. “Of course it can, Stiles.”

 

The cat hissed at Scott and tried to shrink further into the towel. Scott just sighed.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

“The best I can do is give her a booster shot and put her in quarantine,” Deaton finally said, as he wrapped the cat’s paw. “She’s not chipped, and I have no way of knowing whether she’s had vaccinations or not.”  


Stiles frowned, then nodded once. “Okay. How long?”

 

The veterinarian picked the cat up gently. “About forty-five days.”

 

Stiles looked him in the eye. “Lie to me and say she’ll be okay.”

 

Deaton blinked at him, surprised, then nodded slowly. “She should be fine.”

 

“Thank you,” the younger man replied seriously. He reached out to pet the cat on her head. “You’ll be okay, kitty. Deaton said so.”

 

Scott grimaced and ushered his friend out of the office. “Come on, Stiles. Let’s go watch something with explosions until you feel better.”

 

Stiles grunted. “Okay.”

 

Allison didn’t quite understand what was happening, so she shoved Scott out of the way and pulled Stiles into a hug. It was weird, tugging his head down to rest on her shoulder when she was wearing flats so she could actually feel the three inch height difference, but Stiles still managed to snuggle down to hug her, like he’d somehow shrunk to half his size and she had to protect him.

 

Scott made a wounded noise and hugged both of them. “She’ll be okay, Stiles.”

 

“She’s just a cat. It’s not like she’s even mine,” Stiles said, and Allison and Scott hugged him tighter just for saying that.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

John heard Stiles come to stand in the doorway and sighed when he didn’t say anything. That meant he was going to ask him for something that he knew he’d say no to. He really wasn’t in the mood for that argument, especially after helping Larry from Animal Control finally get the raccoon out of his basement. That thing had been a monster. He wouldn’t have been surprised if _it_ had been the one behind the animal attacks that had killed people (he knew it wasn’t, logically, but something was going on in this town and damned if he knew what it was).

 

He saw the cat hanging from his son’s arms when he looked up, a long, solid body that he hadn’t even realized the cat had because it was a stray, so it was supposed to be skinny, right? He noticed the shallow plastic box by Stiles’s feet a moment later, filled with a bag of cat food and two bowls and a bag of litter—made of walnut hulls, apparently. He was surprised, somewhere deep down, because Stiles had never expressed a desire for a pet; he’s not surprised either, though, because Stiles had mentioned the cat a lot after they’d found out about the raccoon.

 

“Deaton says she’s at least part Maine Coon and that makes her low-key and low-maintenance. I just need to brush her a lot because she’s got so much hair. Her name is Xena because she is a warrior princess and she can sleep in my room.”

 

John sighed again, covering his mouth as he looked at the cat, who seemed content to let Stiles hold her under her front legs until the end of time, no matter how uncomfortable it looked. “…I can’t talk you out of it?”

 

“She protected me from the raccoon that ate Mrs. McGullicutty’s Pomeranian.” Stiles looked down at her and frowned. “And we fixed the window, so she won’t have a warm place to sleep at night.”

 

“…Just… make sure you take care of it. And if it coughs up hairballs, those are yours to deal with, too.”

 

Stiles drew himself up indignantly. “ _It_ is a _she_ and her name is Xena.”

 

John watched as the cat closed its eyes and began to purr, still hanging from his son’s arms. “…Yes, I can just see how much of a warrior princess she is.”

 

“Don’t you patronize me and my cat!” the younger boy huffed, turning to stomp up the stairs.

 

_“Wow,”_ the cat agreed emphatically.

 

Stiles cooed. “I know, he just doesn’t understand us.”

 

_“Rrow.”_

 

“I can still hear you!” John called after them, then shook his head, laughing a little.


End file.
